


The Dancing Lesson

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dancing Lessons, F/F, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p>
<p>"After the Inquisition is invited to a fancy Orlesian ball, Josephine is tasked with teaching her girlfriend Cassandra to dance- in heels. The lesson is frustrating for both of them, and eventually it devolves into something they can both enjoy."</p>
<p>I can't resist the Oh Tee Pee. :) Hope you enjoy this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dancing Lesson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vicewithavice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicewithavice/gifts).



“Absolutely not,” Cassandra ground out.

“My dear Cassandra, I’m afraid there’s really no alternative,” Vivienne said smoothly.

“Then I won’t go,” Cassandra snapped. “There is no reason for me to be there anyway!”

“The Inquisition’s connection to the Orlesian empire is currently… _tenuous_ ,” Josephine said carefully. “And the invitation explicitly included the erstwhile Right Hand of the Divine. It would be a grave insult if you were to be absent.”

Cassandra glared at Josephine, who at least had the grace to look mildly apologetic. Whose side was Josephine on, anyway?

“I was able to attend the ball at Halamshiral in Inquisition livery,” Cassandra said, a note of desperation entering her voice. “Surely that would suffice — ”

“Not this time,” Leliana interrupted. “The Wintersend Ball is an important social occasion. The dress code is strict, and very traditional. To flout it would be terribly offensive to the Empire.” Leliana tilted her head, scrutinizing the Seeker. “Your gown need not be elaborate — in fact, I would say that something simple, but elegant, would suit you perfectly.”

“Yes, exactly,” Vivienne agreed.

“There are always ways to conceal weapons in a gown, so you needn’t worry on that front,” Leliana went on. “We will make all the arrangements for you. And as for the shoes… the dress code is quite exacting.”

Cassandra looked in desperation from Leliana to Vivienne, but found no sympathy. Finally, she turned to Josephine, silently begging with her eyes.

Josephine sighed. “I am sorry, my love. But you must wear a gown, and heeled shoes, and you must dance.”

“And if I refuse?” Cassandra said, scowling. The look of dismay on Josephine’s face was almost enough to cause Cassandra to immediately capitulate, but then she remembered the kind of heeled shoe that she was being asked, no, _ordered_ to wear: little more than a jewelled slipper, propped up on a preposterous stiletto heel.

“Do you honestly think I would allow you to attend this ball in your battered riding boots?” Leliana asked, amused. “No, you will wear the proper shoes, and you will dance. It is only for one evening, Cassandra.”

The Seeker shook her head. “It is not possible,” she protested. “I have never worn such absurd things, and I do not dance. I would be a disgrace to the Inquisition.”

Vivienne smiled. “No you won’t be, dear. We aren’t about to set you loose on the Orlesian Wintersend Ball without proper instruction any more than you would send recruits into the field before they have been trained in tactics.”

Cassandra scoffed. “Are _you_ offering to teach me to dance, then, Madame de Fer?” she asked. Vivienne arched a single eyebrow in response, her eyes turning to Josephine, who offered a determined smile.

“I will teach you,” Josephine said firmly. “I taught my sister Yvette how to dance in heeled shoes, and she is far from a paragon of physical grace. I’m sure you will do just fine, my love. How hard could it be?”

* * *

Cassandra bit back an oath as she stumbled for the eighth time. Josephine stepped back, allowing Cassandra to regain her composure. The ambassador — usually the absolute epitome of patience — let out a tiny, frustrated sigh, pursing her lips. Josephine’s increasing frustration was, Cassandra thought, the worst part of this entire ridiculous travesty. Her own irritation was nothing unusual, but she did not like to see Josephine thus discomposed.

Though if Josephine was frustrated, she might be persuaded to abandon the lesson. “Perhaps we could stop for today?” Cassandra asked hopefully. Josephine merely shook her head, giving Cassandra a sympathetic smile even as she held out her hands in position, indicating to Cassandra that they were going to resume.

This was pure misery. Cassandra was used to physical exertion, of course; she could march in armour, carrying weapons and shield and gear, and not tire for many, many hours. She had certainly dealt with equipment that was not comfortable, or that did not fit her properly. And she had been injured, sometimes grievously injured, and kept fighting or marching or whatever was required of her.

But these thrice-damned _shoes_ were on another order entirely. She hadn’t known how badly her toes could hurt. It felt as though they were being slowly crushed in a press. She would almost rather run the gauntlet than continue dancing in these monstrous contraptions. Between the distracting pain, and the ludicrous spindly stiletto heel, Cassandra had none of her usual physical prowess. She moved like a newborn foal, although in Cassandra’s experience even foals got to cantering with less trouble than she was having with these shoes. It was maddening.

But Josephine was there, patiently waiting for Cassandra to take her position so they could resume dancing. It was unlikely that anyone other than her beloved could have persuaded Cassandra to continue to wear painful heeled shoes, let alone try to perform an elaborate formal dance. Cassandra heaved a sigh. “Very well,” she said miserably, moving into position with Josephine.

Josephine was a skilled dancer, leading Cassandra confidently through the routine, counting out the beats and reminding her of the steps. Cassandra might even have begun to enjoy herself — spending time alone with Josephine was never unpleasant — but then the treacherous shoes betrayed her yet again, and she stumbled badly, nearly bringing Josephine down with her. She directed a wordless pleading glare at Josephine, who offered her arm. “That’s enough for now,” she said calmly, leading Cassandra toward the settee that they had pushed against the far wall to make space in Josephine’s sitting room. 

Cassandra collapsed gracelessly onto the settee, landing with a heavy thud. Getting her weight off her sore feet her only thought; the instant this was achieved, she groaned in relief, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

“You picked up the steps quite well, I think,” Josephine remarked, settling herself prettily next to Cassandra. She felt Josephine’s fingers caressing her cheek, and fought against a smile at her touch; she was not quite ready to be appeased yet. “It is only the shoes, and your unfamiliarity and… discomfort.” Not moving her head or opening her eyes, Cassandra snorted at this gross understatement. “Do not worry about that, my love. After a few more practice sessions, you will become accustomed to the shoes — ”

“ _More_ practice?” Cassandra said wearily. She opened her eyes and glared down at her feet, still encased in the elaborately decorated shoes. “These things will hobble me if I must wear them again.”

“Everyone finds them unpleasant at first,” Josephine said, conciliatory, stroking her cheek again. “Surely you did not find your shield or your armour instantly comfortable?”

“That is not the same,” Cassandra protested. “Those things have a purpose; learning to wear them is important.”

“This is important too, Cassandra, as you are well aware.” Cassandra gave an exasperated huff. “You know I am right. This ball carries immense diplomatic import. Wearing the proper shoes, knowing the proper dances… these things are as critical to our success as proper swords, proper strategy might be to your own missions.”

Cassandra pulled Josephine’s hand from where it was stroking her cheek and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. Then she leaned forward to remove the offending footwear. “If I could bring a proper sword to this ball instead of ‘proper’ shoes,” she said, undoing the buckled straps of one shoe, “I would be much more confident about — _aaah, Maker’s breath!_ ” she cried.

“What is wrong?” Josephine asked, startled.

“Aaaaaahhhhh,” Cassandra keened, easing the shoe the rest of the way off her foot. “How is it possible that removing these torture implements is even more painful than wearing them?”

“Poor Cassandra,” Josephine said, trying and failing to hide a smile. “That is just the feeling coming back into your foot. It will pass.”

Cassandra gently pressed her fingertips to her stockinged foot; even a light touch was agonizing, pins-and-needles taken to an impossible extreme. Taking a deep breath, she quickly undid the removed the other shoe, hissing as the burning pain gripped that foot as well. Sitting back, she kept her feet awkwardly elevated, as resting them on the floor was painful. “‘Just the feeling coming back into my foot,’” she muttered. “I can set aflame the lyrium in the blood of mages and templars. And now I have some idea of what that must feel like.”

“Patience, my love,” Josephine said, rising from the settee. “It will only last a moment or two. Stay there,” she commanded as she went through the doorway into her bedroom. Cassandra scowled, thinking that she was not about to put weight on her feet to go _anywhere_ , not of her own volition.

Josephine came back into the sitting room, carrying a small flask. She knelt on the floor before Cassandra and, with gentle hands, pulled one of Cassandra’s feet into her lap. Cassandra tensed, but Josephine’s touch was not painful. She relaxed incrementally when Josephine began running her fingers over her foot, softly caressing.

“Poor Cassandra,” Josephine said again, smiling up at her. “I know this ball is the very last thing you would wish to do, regardless. And the requirements of dress and behaviour are deeply unpleasant for you. But you are so strong, so committed to the Inquisition and your duty, I know you will dazzle everyone at the ball.”

Cassandra, despite enjoying the attentions to her sore foot, sighed. “Do you honestly expect such a heavy-handed attempt at diplomacy to work on me?” she asked, without any real ire.

Josephine gave her an indulgent smile. “Well, if you won’t do it for the sake of your duty to the Inquisition, perhaps you will do it for me.” She began tugging on Cassandra’s stocking, its tied garter sliding down her calf, until her foot was bare in Josephine’s hands. “And, if you will not do it out of love for me, perhaps you will do it if I find a way to make these lessons more pleasant for you.”

Josephine poured a little oil from the flask she had brought, coating her fingers and palms, then took up Cassandra’s foot. Her attentions were gentle at first, helping Cassandra’s strained muscles to relax. Josephine had surprisingly strong hands, Cassandra knew; not like those of a warrior, certainly, but deft and capable. Her touch deepened, soothing the aches and tightness of Cassandra’s feet, sliding up a little to ease the smarting in her ankles, relieve the tightness of her calves. It felt marvellous. Cassandra always enjoyed Josephine’s touch, when they were together in private, the beautiful intimate closeness of it. When Josephine finished, Cassandra leaned forward to stroke her cheek with one hand, a gesture of gratitude and affection.

Josephine pressed a kiss into the palm of Cassandra’s hand, then pulled off her other stocking, poured more oil into her hands, and ministered to Cassandra’s other foot. By the time she was finished, Cassandra felt an absence of pain in her feet that was — after such an unpleasant time spent in those accursed shoes — a kind of giddy pleasure.

Cassandra shifted her weight, thinking to rise, perhaps take Josephine in her arms and lead her to the bedroom so she could show her gratitude properly… but she was stopped by Josephine pressing her hands into Cassandra’s thighs, pushing her back down onto the settee. Josephine, smiling invitingly, rose and moved up half onto Cassandra’s lap. Leaning into Cassandra’s arms, Josephine kissed her, a slow, deliberate kiss that soon opened and deepened. Cassandra, already dizzy with pleasure born from Josephine’s closeness, her touch, her attentions, felt the flames of desire blaze up almost immediately. She put her arms around Josephine, pulled her close, and moaned into her mouth….

But Josephine pushed herself back, pulling away from the kiss. Cassandra was confused, almost hurt, but Josephine was smiling in that alluring way she had. She slithered back down to kneel once more, though now she was much closer, her torso between Cassandra’s knees. She kept her hands on the tops of Cassandra’s thighs, close to her hips.

“Please, my love,” Josephine said, her voice low and honeyed. “Let me make it up to you.” She smiled playfully, her fingers inching up over Cassandra’s thighs, playing over her belt. Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat. “I hate to think that you might have an entirely negative experience, dancing with me,” Josephine went on. “I would like, very much, to give you pleasure, my love, my Cassandra.” Her fingers moved to the belt buckle, then stopped. Josephine looked up at Cassandra, waiting for her assent.

Josephine, Cassandra thought, was so utterly beautiful. Beautiful, and honourable, and _wonderful_ in every way. It seemed like sacrilege, that she should be on her knees, that she should be offering pleasure without receiving. She deserved, Cassandra thought in a daze of passion, to be adored, cherished, offered pleasure every moment of every day. But when she looked at Josephine’s face — her eyes dark and intense, her cheeks flushed, her expression ardent — she saw her own vulnerable desire, her own adoration reflected back. Whatever part of Cassandra was resisting, was insisting that _she_ should be the one offering pleasure to _Josephine_ , that part laid down arms at the sight of Josephine’s desire. How could she do anything but open herself, embrace this intimacy, accept the love that was offered so beautifully and freely?

Cassandra nodded, and Josephine’s smile widened, her delight palpable. She deftly undid the belt buckle, and then the ties at the top of Cassandra’s trousers. She then tugged up the hemmed edge of the linen shirt Cassandra was wearing, and slid her hands up to caress her abdomen, her fingers tracing over the firm lines of muscle there. Josephine hummed approvingly, her eyes half-lidded with her pleasure.

This too had taken some getting used to, perhaps even more so than the idea that Josephine might feel affection for Cassandra; the idea that Josephine was _attracted_ to her, that she took pleasure in seeing, touching Cassandra’s body, her face. Cassandra had been used to people calling her beautiful, had been used to dismissing those words as meaningless, attempts to curry her favour or gain her attention. She had never thought of herself as particularly beautiful, or even given the concept much thought. In her only relationship prior to Josephine, she had felt attractive enough, but… with Josephine, she felt extraordinary. Gorgeous. _Desired_.

It was still, sometimes, not easy for Cassandra to simply allow herself to feel this way; to overcome the self-consciousness that Josephine’s fervent attentions brought on; to simply relax and let her beloved express her joy, her desire, her passion for Cassandra.

Josephine did not seem too inclined to spend much time on her own passion at the moment, however; it was not long before she hooked her fingers in the top band of Cassandra’s trousers and gave a preliminary tug. Cassandra, complying with the unspoken request, lifted her hips, and helped Josephine slide the garment down her hips and off entirely. It was strange that this should be happening here, in the sitting room, on Josephine’s settee — until now, their lovemaking had only ever actually _happened_ in the bedroom, though it had certainly gotten started in the sitting room enough times. And now, here was Cassandra, bare from the waist down, with Josephine kneeling between her legs, kissing the tops of her knees, sliding her soft, sure hands up her thighs….

Cassandra groaned softly, allowing her legs to part, letting her beloved in. Josephine wrapped her arms under each of Cassandra’s legs and leaned forward, placing kisses on her thighs. It was exquisite, feeling Josephine’s mouth on her sensitive skin. Cassandra revelled in the intimacy of it, in how miraculous it was that she trusted Josephine with this closeness, wanted it, wanted _her, here, yes, like that_. Her pleasure rose, her inhibitions and insecurities vanishing like mist in the wind, and she found her hips rolling, her thighs flexing, seeking more contact, more closeness, _more_.

Josephine, however, was unrelenting, her mouth moving over Cassandra’s thighs, but holding herself — stubbornly, implacably — back from the juncture of her legs, where Cassandra wanted her with increasing desperation. She could not hold back a groan that sounded like mighty boulders grinding against one another. Josephine, not moving her head, turned her eyes up to gaze at Cassandra, who recognized her coy expression, and knew what Josephine was holding out for. 

Josephine disengaged her hands from where they clasped Cassandra’s thighs, gently laying them over Cassandra’s own hands, which were clenched into fists beside her hips. She resisted, briefly, feeling Josephine’s soft fingers caress her knuckles; then, with an effort, she relaxed her hands, and allowed Josephine to guide them until they rested on Josephine’s head. Then Josephine curled her arms once more around Cassandra’s thighs, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the skin of her belly, then sat back, waiting.

Cassandra breathed deeply, desire pulsing in her like a beacon, staring down at Josephine, who was looking up at her with such an expression of trust, openness, and adoration that Cassandra’s heart swelled painfully. She had been so reluctant to do this, early on, unwilling to touch Josephine during this act, fearful of hurting her, of somehow forcing her into something she did not do of her own volition. Josephine had patiently, lovingly, and insistently invited her to touch her like this, hold her head like this, again and again, encouraging her to move from her first tentative fingertip caresses to a more… _firm_ grip. She had impressed upon Cassandra that she _enjoyed_ this, _wanted_ this, that it was pleasurable to Josephine to have Cassandra’s hands on her head, to feel her hips pitching, to be physically caught up in the visceral evidence of Cassandra’s passion. It had taken time, but Josephine’s obvious pleasure and joy in it had finally convinced Cassandra to indulge in it when it was requested.

Slowly, gently, making sure this was what Josephine desired, Cassandra slid her fingers into Josephine’s hair, guiding her to where Cassandra desperately wanted her. Josephine, humming with approval, allowed herself to be guided, her mouth pressing into the apex of Cassandra’s sex. She closed her eyes, opened her lips, and Cassandra was immediately and utterly lost. Josephine’s hands clutched at her thighs, pulling herself closer, deeper into Cassandra. Her tongue, lips, everything, moving and soft and silky, pressing into her centre, swirling, plunging…. Cassandra’s hips were rolling, her hands pulling Josephine into herself. She found herself wrapping her legs around Josephine, pulling her entire body closer, feeling lost, greedy, enraptured, wanting _more_. Josephine’s mouth on her sex was rapidly pushing her toward her peak, and she rushed headlong toward it, not holding back, utterly open and adoring.

Her climax was almost brutal in its intensity. She gasped and moaned and shuddered through it, her limbs seizing and quaking. When she came to herself, she did not relax for even an instant to enjoy the afterglow, but carefully slid her legs off Josephine’s shoulders and leaned forward, slipping her hands to cradle Josephine’s face. “My love?” Cassandra asked hoarsely.

Josephine, her face slick with Cassandra’s release, her hair hopelessly mussed, gave Cassandra an absolutely radiant smile. She leaned forward to kiss Cassandra, and, uncaring of the wetness, she kissed back, putting all of her love, her pleasure, her tender and infinite gratitude into the kiss. They kissed and kissed, Cassandra tasting herself on Josephine, stroking her cheeks with her thumbs, sighing into her mouth, almost drunk with joy.

Then Cassandra surged forward, not breaking their kiss, and scooped Josephine into her arms, standing heedless of her own state of undress. Josephine gave a shriek of surprise that was muffled by Cassandra’s lips, then a laugh that met the same fate. Cassandra carried her to the bedroom, to the bed, so she could give Josephine full and proper thanks for her role in the dancing lesson. Which she did. And then, she gave Josephine full and proper thanks for her generous ministrations to help Cassandra recover from the dance lessons. Still later, she gave Josephine full and proper thanks for being beautiful, for being Cassandra’s, for bringing her a love she had never allowed herself to imagine having, and for many more things besides.

Much later, they both lay replete, relaxed, and entwined beneath the bed covers. Josephine’s head lay on Cassandra’s breast, her hair — now fully unbound, combed out by Cassandra’s careful fingers — spread over Cassandra’s torso like a silken veil. Josephine turned her face up to Cassandra’s, received Cassandra’s kiss, then smiled and said, “I hope that the prospect of dancing lessons does not seem so dire now.”

Cassandra groaned and let her head fall back against the pillow. “I had managed to forget about all that,” she complained.

“Now, now, my love,” Josephine said slyly, snuggling against Cassandra’s breast. “I know for a fact that you will not mind, now that I have devised a lesson plan that is to your liking. It is, perhaps, not what Leliana and Vivienne had in mind…” Cassandra gave an outraged squawk, and felt Josephine’s answering smile. “…But I am convinced it will be effective.”

Cassandra grumbled a little, reaching over to dim the oil-lamp on the bedside table, then settled back with Josephine in her arms, to sleep.

Josephine was not finished yet, though. “I must admit, I am very much looking forward to seeing you in a gown.”

“Josephine….”

“I think you would look ravishing in a deep sapphire blue velvet. Or perhaps a warm, dark gold lustrous silk, to accent your eyes.”

Cassandra merely sighed.

“Well, regardless, I am sure I shall be absolutely taken with you.”

“I thought you were already taken with me,” Cassandra muttered sleepily.

“Of course I am! But this will give me an excuse to ogle you in public.”

“…Please don’t.”

“You are no fun, my love.”

“No, I am not. Go to sleep.”

Cassandra felt the shaking from Josephine’s silent laughter, and could not help but smile, herself; she suspected Josephine knew she was smiling, despite the darkness. She pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Josephine’s head, and whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Josephine said, softly, sighing, relaxing toward sleep.

Cassandra soon drifted to sleep herself, dreaming of perfect dance steps, silk gowns, and endless love.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear vicewithavice, my Wintersend recipient,
> 
> I wrote this as a bit of a bonus Wintersend story, since I was worried that my main fill for you (Leliana/Josephine in their younger days in Val Royeaux) wasn't lighthearted enough -- apparently, I am incapable of writing something fluffy and uncomplicated!
> 
> So I decided to give this prompt a shot, and even this got a lot more character-heavy than you maybe wanted...? D: But I hope you liked it! Happy Wintersend. :)


End file.
